


Parental Guidance

by toomuchplor



Series: Knick Knock [4]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-30
Updated: 2008-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-20 04:23:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchplor/pseuds/toomuchplor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Rodney was not impressed by the notion of Sheppard with children.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Parental Guidance

**Author's Note:**

> At last! More Knick Knock fic! Embarrassingly, I'd actually *lost* the first 2/3 of this piece on my hard drive -- to the point where I thought I'd actually deleted the whole thing in a fit of pique. Luckily, I rediscovered and polished and finished it, so here it is! I'm tempted to include some sort of 'what the hell was I thinking' report because I think the piece is a bit of a stylistic departure for me but I'm going to be brave and hope the piece speaks for itself.

It didn't matter what Teyla said, Sheppard was no good with kids. Rodney had long ago observed that Sheppard had only three strategies for interacting with children. These were, in ascending order of uselessness:

1) Telling them stories that baffled and frightened them. This made them quiet and submissive, but mostly because they were (of course) worried that Sheppard was unbalanced and might attack if they resisted or made any noise. Or, other times:  
2) Chasing them in circles, growling and stomping and generally behaving like a moron. The children inevitably ran, screamed, laughed, and ran some more. This usually ended with one or more child falling and injuring themselves, which led to Sheppard  
3) Foisting the (now crying) children off on the nearest adult. Sometimes this meant Rodney.

Rodney was not impressed by the notion of Sheppard with children.

* * *

It surprised Rodney that Sheppard wasn't flashing Ingram around the city like a living prop. In fact, he didn't see either Sheppard or Ingram at all that whole first day, even when he went by Sheppard's office to ask about something. The office was empty except for Lorne, who looked up from Sheppard's paperwork and said, "Doc thought it'd be best if the Colonel took today off."

"Right," said Rodney. "I forgot about the--" He gestured down towards the floor, meaning Ingram.

"So, hey, you were a cute kid," said Lorne, grinning. "I wouldn't have pegged you for a natural blond."

"Shut up," said Rodney, and went to the mess hall. Sheppard and Ingram weren't there, either. Rodney was glad, because he could eat his lunch in peace without listening to everyone coo over how cute his toddler self was.

He fell asleep in the lab doing some shield modulation sims and by the time he woke up it was four in the morning, far too late to risk waking Sheppard by going to his quarters to sleep. Rodney got off his stool, stretched half-heartedly, and staggered back to his own bed. He had to move a pile of clothes and equipment onto the floor to clear enough room on the mattress and the sheets smelled stale, disused.

Ingram and Sheppard weren't at breakfast, either. Rodney sat across from Elizabeth and Kate, who seemed startled to see him at their table. "Good morning," said Elizabeth, cautiously.

"Did you make Sheppard take today off, too?" Rodney asked, "Because I need his help to run some tests on one of the jumpers."

Kate blinked. "I didn't order Sheppard to take time off," she said, "just suggested that the more time he could spend with Ingram, the more secure Ingram would feel."

"So he's just been screwing around all this time?" said Rodney, stabbing at his fruit salad. "Typical."

"He has been spending a lot of time with Ingram," conceded Elizabeth, getting that annoying smile, the one that meant she thought she knew something Rodney hadn't figured out yet.

"Of course he has," said Rodney, "because that way, when I really need him -- his help, I mean -- he's nowhere to be found."

"I think he said something," said Elizabeth, sipping at her tea to cover the telling smile, "about taking Ingram to the east pier to show him the whale spouts. Marine biology's reporting that it's good whale-watching today."

Rodney shoved the last of his bran muffin in his mouth and pushed back his chair. "Too bad that some of us have critically important tasks and don't have time to stand around and," he said, and grabbed his coffee and hurried away without bothering to finish his sentence.

Food services told Rodney that Sheppard had requisitioned two bag lunches, but Rodney decided that his time was better spent on transporter maintenance than chasing Sheppard all over the city. He worked on the transporter closest to Sheppard's quarters all afternoon, just in case. Sheppard didn't come back. Rodney packed up his tool kit and tried not to think about Ingram pelting around the pier in bare feet while Sheppard roared and chased him and drove him dangerously near the water's edge.

"We should have restricted areas for the kids," said Rodney when he bumped into Lorne near Sheppard's office. Lorne blinked and tightened his grip around his son's hips.

"S'just the admin HQ for the military," said Lorne, frowning. "Most dangerous thing here is a stapler." He hitched his kid up higher on his hip. "I mean, sometimes Maya can't watch him during the day, so I bring him here. Obviously the armory and the gym and the labs are off-limits, but that's just common sense for parents."

"For parents, maybe," said Rodney darkly, and brushed past Lorne as he headed back to the lab.

It was Tuesday, which was team dinner night in Sheppard's quarters, and Ronon was probably going to make those pastry meat roll things with the blue gravy and Teyla would maybe bring some Athosian ale, but Rodney was swamped with work. He only noticed the time when he realized that no one had radioed him to remind him.

"There are leftovers on the counter in the kitchen," said Sheppard muzzily when Rodney came into his bedroom, shucking his pants. "Can warm 'em up in the -- Ancient microwave thing. If you want."

Rodney held one hand aloft, waving the last piece of the only remaining pastry meat roll thing. "Found them," he said, around a mouthful of gravy and meat. "And thanks so much, by the way, for reminding me about dinner," he added sarcastically.

"We figured one McKay was enough," said Sheppard. He propped himself up on one elbow to watch Rodney undress, more alert now. "He's really something else."

"Of course he is," said Rodney, flapping a hand in dismissal, and licked his fingers clean before dropping his boxers and kicking them away. "Zelenka and I wanted to run those shielding tests tomorrow if you have an hour to spare."

"Yeah, I can -- maybe Teyla or Ronon could watch him, I don't know," said Sheppard, now wriggling out of his own underwear under the covers. "Though, actually, maybe I should get Lorne to fill in for me with the tests, Kate seems to think that I should be sticking close for a while -- something about stability or stabilization or something."

"Fine," said Rodney, "send Lorne then," reaching down and circling his cock, stroking it to full hardness, and clambering across Sheppard's bed on his knees. "Turn over, I want to be in you," he said, and Sheppard turned.

Rodney was halfway inside John before he tensed and stopped. "Um, where is he?" asked Rodney.

"God," said John, choked and clenching the sheets, "ah, Rodney."

"Ingram, where is he?" asked Rodney, looking over his shoulder, suddenly uneasy.

"He's -- fuck. In the spare bedroom," said John, reaching back to brace his hand against Rodney's thigh before he shoved himself down on Rodney's cock. "Jesus, Rodney."

"Right, sorry," said Rodney, and fucked John.

Afterwards, Rodney tucked himself around John and said, "He won't like scary stories."

"What?" said John, half-asleep.

"Don't tell him scary stories," said Rodney. "He'll be -- he's probably very imaginative. It could give him bad dreams."

"Right, no Moby Dick," said John fondly, smiling into Rodney's shoulder. "I remember."

"And -- well, when I was little, I tended to be a little clumsy. I mean, my physical development lagged a bit behind my rather remarkable intellectual development, so."

"I noticed that when he knocked his milk all over the table at dinner," said John wryly.

"So go easy on him with the roughhousing."

"Roughhousing?" repeated John, and Rodney could hear the amusement in his voice: Rodney had crossed out of cool territory and into nerdy land yet again. "Right, that and the horseplay and the shenanigans."

"Just -- be careful with him." Rodney lay still a while longer, then blurted it out: "You're too noisy, too."

"I'm too noisy?" said Sheppard, lifting his head up, squinting at Rodney.

"In bed," clarified Rodney.

" _I'm_ too noisy," said Sheppard, which just showed how out of touch he was with himself because when Rodney got going the right way, Sheppard started making sounds that -- well. It was one of the reasons Rodney had bullied Sheppard into acquiring the bigger quarters with the better exterior soundproofing.

"Don't get me wrong," said Rodney, "usually I find it quite. Ah. But if -- it might wake him up, he…I was a light sleeper."

"Is this your way of telling me that you overheard your parents doing it when you were a kid?" said Sheppard, smiling again.

"No," said Rodney, pulling away and turning so his back was to Sheppard. "But I used to wake up whenever they started fighting. And those aren't exactly my best memories, okay?"

There was a long silence, and then Sheppard sighed. "He's not you, Rodney. His entire life has already been completely different from yours. He was born in a different _galaxy_ , for god's sake."

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious," snapped Rodney, throwing back the covers and pulling away from Sheppard. "I only meant to say that I have some insight into the best way of dealing with this -- with him. But far be it from me to suggest that you try interacting with the kid as though he's something other than some weird wind-up doll you found."

"First of all," said Sheppard, kicking the covers loose and getting up as well, "if you have so much goddamn insight into Ingram, why the hell aren't you looking after him yourself? And secondly, I'm not the one who can't get past the clone part and see that he's just a fucked up scared little boy!"

"Oh, and you're so well-suited to the task, because you're used to _babysitting_ me, after all!" Rodney shouted, tripping as he struggled into his boxers. "Christ, Sheppard, you can't even remember not to scream obscenities when I'm -- and he's in the next room over, you could show a little restraint."

"You didn't have a problem with it while your dick was up my ass!" Sheppard returned, tugging at his t-shirt and yanking it viciously over his head.

"You know what? Fuck you, and fuck this," spat Rodney, pivoting towards the door, fed up. "Oh."

Ingram was standing in the doorway, fingers in his mouth, hair even wilder than earlier, pillow creases over one sleep-warm cheek. His eyes were wide enough that Rodney could see the white all around each blue iris.

"Shit," said Rodney faintly.

"Hey buddy," said Sheppard, stepping around Rodney, getting down on his haunches and reaching for Ingram. "Sorry, did we wake you up?"

"No," said Ingram, his gaze fixed on Rodney, his bare chest and arms. Rodney folded his arms in front of himself, feeling weirdly exposed.

"You want me to come and read to you again?" said Sheppard. "How about that one that Major Lorne gave us, the one with the dogs wearing hats?"

"Yes," said Ingram, still staring.

"You remember Rodney, right?" said Sheppard, tracing the direction of Ingram's gaze. "Rodney was just leaving." His voice was perfectly pleasant and even, more natural than Sheppard ever sounded on away missions when dealing with recalcitrant locals. "Let's go and read, and Rodney will go home."

"Yes," said Ingram, lurching forward into John's embrace, throwing his arms possessively around John's neck.

Once dressed, Rodney sidestepped the tableau - child and caregiver - and headed out the door. The last thing he heard was John chanting, "One dog, two dogs, red dog, blue dog."

* * *

Ingram and Lorne's kid -- whose name was something Pegasusian and ridiculous, Rodney could never remember it -- were kneeling up on their chairs in the mess hall, feeding themselves haphazardly with their fingers and ignoring each other as steadily and completely as only toddlers could. Sheppard and Lorne were just as oblivious, chatting between mouthfuls of lunch and only occasionally turning their heads to their small companions and offering a napkin, a straw, a firm suggestion accompanied by a finger pointing at the limp greens on the plate.

Rodney pulled his lunch tray closer to his body and headed over to sit with Zelenka.

"You are messy eater at all ages, I see," said Zelenka.

"Shut up, just -- shut up," Rodney returned, and dug into his food. He flipped open his laptop on the table beside them and began drilling Zelenka on the latest power use projections.

Rodney first registered the disturbance as an incongruous slamming noise, the sort of frequent mess hall clumsiness usually perpetrated by a science team member and greeted with applause on the part of the military contingent. But no applause followed, only a sudden dimming of chatter and then a shouted, "Who's got an epipen?"

John.

Rodney wasn't aware of getting to his feet or crossing the room, and realized only halfway there that he didn't have an epipen, he had left it in his tac vest and his spare was in his desk back in the lab. John was pale and wide-eyed and kneeling beside Ingram, who was --

"He's not having an anaphylactic reaction," said Rodney hastily, warding off an approaching medic from a nearby table. He studied Ingram's expression: the downcast eyes, fluttering eyelids, flushed cheeks, repetitive clenching of his hands.

"He drank some lemonade, I didn't even think--" John was saying, desperately.

"Calm down, it's not an allergic reaction!" Rodney snapped, and reached out to stroke Ingram's cheek. No response. "Ingram?" Of course that wouldn't work, Rodney thought dimly -- the child was probably just starting to recognize that as his name. Rodney clicked his fingers over Ingram's right ear, twice. Nothing.

"What are you --" said John, shifting his weight restlessly, "-- come on, Rodney, let the medic in."

"Wait!" Rodney ordered, and clapped sharply, right by Ingram's ear.

Ingram blinked more slowly, then looked up at Rodney, startled. He immediately burst into tears and lunged at John, just as though he hadn't been staring blankly into space a moment earlier.

"Oh, thank god," said Lorne weakly. "What the hell was that?"

"Absence seizure," Rodney said, sagging to the ground with relief. "Petit mal, that's the old name for it."

"How did you--" Lorne asked, baffled.

"Jeannie," said Rodney. "Epilepsy runs in the family. I had a few seizures as a small child, I completely forgot about it. It went away as I got older, stopped by the time I was seven or so."

"Oh," said Lorne. "Is he okay now?

"He's fine," said Rodney, waving his hand by way of demonstration, to where John was cradling the boy against his chest, stroking his hair and jostling him like he was a small infant. "I just startled him out of it. The clapping usually worked on Jeannie if she didn't respond to her name."

"It wasn't the lemonade?" asked John, pale and shaky. "Are you sure?"

"It was a seizure," Rodney promised, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, allergies are mostly environmentally formed, he may well have a completely different spectrum of allergens than me. Apparently, his don't include citrus."

"What was it, then?" John asked. "Why did he --"

"There are different triggers," Rodney told him, "but it's probably stress." He bit his lip, remembering Ingram's sleepy face the previous night. "Or sleep deprivation, that can do it too." Seeing John look poleaxed , Rodney hurriedly added, "It's not serious, Colonel, it's just a mild condition that some children have."

The infirmary team burst into the mess hall the next minute and everything got washed over in a haze of questioning and activity. The bustle ended with John carrying Ingram out of the mess hall, surrounded by a sea of medical personnel, and then everything went back to normal.

Rodney went back to his seat and finished his lunch (cold) and thought about John's overt terror, the way he'd held his jaw tight like it was an off-world mission gone deep south, like the Wraith and the Replicators and the Ori were descending on Atlantis all at once, like John was feeling too much and thinking too hard and didn't have the mental resources to clap the lid down on himself, to hold back everything from showing in his expression.

Rodney hadn't seen that particular look on John's face since the day they dialed Earth and couldn't connect.

* * *

"Does it really happen that fast?" Rodney asked John later that night, alone in John's bedroom.

"Apparently," said John, rubbing his hand up the back of his head, making his hair stand up like a hedgehog's spines. "Shit, Rodney. I thought I was going to scream. I've never --" and he stopped, going pale again at the memory.

Rodney crawled under the covers and held them up impatiently, waiting for John to snap out of his daze and follow. "Congratulations," said Rodney dryly, as John began to move. "Looks like you're a dad now."

"Glad you were there," said John, in the gruff voice that meant he was treading closer to actual emotions. He pulled Rodney closer and tucked his pointed chin into the space between Rodney's shoulder and neck. "You kept me from killing the kid with an epinephrine overdose."

"Anytime," said Rodney, already drifting.

"I think I can be quiet," said John, reaching around to stick his hand down the front of Rodney's boxers. "If you want to try me."

"Mmm," sighed Rodney, tilting his hips forward into John's palm. "I don't know, I think I like you kind of noisy."

John bit Rodney's ear, then backed off to say, "I want to be careful with him, I really do. He's not just some --"

"I know you do, I know he's not," said Rodney, impatiently. "Look. It's not what I was expecting."

"Me neither," said John, a little wonderingly. Then he pushed Rodney over onto his stomach and rolled on top of him. "I bet I can make you shout first," he said, and began to move.

"You're far too immature to have guardianship of the second greatest mind in the galaxy," said Rodney. "And you are on, my friend."

* * *

Sheppard's new strategies for dealing with children -- or with Ingram, at any rate -- were, in descending order of usefulness:

1) Meticulously following the sterile textbook parenting rules set out for him by Keller and Heightmeyer, at least until:

2) One or more of the rules failed catastrophically, at which point Sheppard would revert to Military Commander Mode (shouting, looming, and base intimidation techniques), which would inevitably lead to:

3) Ingram bursting into hysterics, making Sheppard melt into a puddle of once-proud and now-pathetic ex-macho goo. Then there would be a lot of unseemly hugging and hair-stroking and hurriedly bestowed kisses of apology to flushed tear-streaked cheeks.

No matter what Teyla said, Sheppard was still terrible with children.

The important thing, Rodney supposed, was that John was trying.


End file.
